Touched By His Noodly Appendage
by RandomSheepdog
Summary: The touching relationship between Italy and the invisible Flying Spaghetti Monster in the sky.


**Done for a request that called for a totally crackish pairing written in a totally serious way... It still feels like crack. lol.**

Ever since he was first taught of his existence, the Italian was intoxicated. He could see his beauty now: his coils upon coils, all formed of the most magnificent pasta, floating about the heavens. His heart longed to see such a being… he yearned.

He dreamt about him some nights. He dreamt of his master coming down from the clouds to hold him in a noodle-filled embrace, and how he would blush as the creature would touch him, stroking the pasta-lover with each of his appendages. Sometimes, he wondered if they were dreams— or if his companion had really come to him in the night, if only in some vision, as proof of his existence; assurance that the greatness that was pasta would always be there for him…

…But what his own comrade had told him that day had left the poor man shattered.

Pasta was one of the great objects of his life. All he wished was to share the faith he held with his friends—with the world. It was at another world meeting when, right as Germany was talking about some economical business, Feliciano decided he would stand up. He wasn't sure of what had just been said, but he mustered up all the courage he could, and interjected anyway.

"Hey, I have an idea!" He sang proudly, "Why don't all of us put money together to build a big pirate ship?" The countries all looked confused.

"Why would we need to do that?" England said—ironically.

Italy smiled. He quickly adorned himself with a pirate hat he'd brought with him, and pulled out a red book, ignorant to Germany, who was now leering with a typical look of "you got to be kidding me" on his face.

"It's all in here!" Feliciano waved the book. "The answers to everything… It's all taught by His Noodly Goodness!"

They stared. Some laughed. All over he saw nothing but confused faces and hints of nations whispering things like "he can't be serious," or, "That's Italy for you."

Germany tried to hush him down, but he thrusted a finger at America, saying, "America! You always say you want to save the world from global warming, well that's in here too!" He gestured to his hat. "Did you all know that as the number of pirates goes down, the earth gets hotter? It's a real fact! Everybody can help, just by being pirates!"

Next to America, Arthur was scoffing. "And what git told you this? For your information, I know that pirates don't have anything to do with _pasta._"

"…or global warming!" Alfred argued.

"Italy-san…" Japan was there, looking down, embarrassed.

"But…" Feliciano whimpered. How dare they turn their noses up at what his master had taught! "Y-you can't say that… he told these things to me! He comes to me at night, and… and…"

All of a sudden, Germany's hand came on his shoulder, trying to sit him down; his face bearing the kind of shame Japan's had. With a sigh, he said, "Italy, there's no such thing as a _Flying Spaghetti Monster_. There never was! I just had you read that stupid 'gospel' to keep you busy so you would stop interfering on the battlefield with your white flags, and your pitiful whining. If I'd known you'd actually believe that ridiculous thing, I wouldn't have even shown it to you!"

Italy was hysterical. He stood up straighter and shouted, "No! Don't say that! He's real! I know he is. You may not see him, but It's true! It's more than just some religion… I'm in love with him and I always will be!" It was the first time the normally relaxed Italian had taken such a defensive stand, and surely, he found he wasn't ready for it. Tears swelled into his vision, and he quickly sat right down again. The other nations were speechless. Germany stared with disbelief, but then cleared his throat to address a change in subject. For the remainder of the meeting, Italy just slouched, humiliated.

That night Italy tried to sleep alone under the stars. Germany had tried to coax him, but he only stormed off, crying that he wanted nobody but his noodly lord now. It was difficult getting to sleep, considering the thoughts that preyed on him inside. What if… Germany was right? What if there was no flying pasta monster in the sky… if all those beautiful feeling were born of a lie? At that mere notion, he began to feel his eyes moisten up again.

"No… he whispered, voice breaking, "no… they're wrong… you must be real… all those dreams I've had…"

Just then, he recalled one of the many things he'd read in the Monster's gospel. 'I'd really rather you didn't go around telling people I talk to you. You're not that great, get over yourself.' This struck him, triggering a sob. With the way he'd acted at the meeting, the FSM would never want him now… even if he existed! Tears falling, he laid his head down in an attempt to cry himself to sleep.

But as he closed his eyes, something that amazed him happened. There was a shining, and he felt something soft lie upon his arm. When he opened his eyes to see what it was, he had never been happier in his life.

Italy looked up to behold such a sight. There before him, floating mystically as he had in all of his dreams, was the glorious Spaghetti Monster. The noodles, the meatballs, the eyestalks that shone with wisdom… The man beamed and took hold of an appendage.

"Ve… It… it's really you! I know you had to be real!" What were once tears of heartbreak now became tears of joy. "I thought… you wouldn't want me, because of…"

A powerful yet endearing voice sounded**. "Don't worry about it, Italy. Didn't you pay attention to my gospel? I'm a cool guy, you know. I mean, I am the creator and all."**

The man smiled. "And I'm yours." With that Feliciano leaped to his creator, burying his body in the tangled mass. The perfect creature embraced him back with all of his noodles. The Italian flushed as he was enveloped by the pleasure of being held by this magical mound of pasta, and smiled softly into him.

"_I love you… FSM."_


End file.
